


The Empty Grave

by Paranoid_Android



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Retelling, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoid_Android/pseuds/Paranoid_Android
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bod meets a nice, sad man at the Graveyard.  He makes it his business to find out what happened to John's friend, Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This assumes Sherlock's grave is at the graveyard described in Neil Gaiman's "The Graveyard Book". This is a wonderful book so please read it if you can. You can read this story without having first read The Graveyard Book, but it might help. Bod is a bit older than in the book, around 10 years old.

“This one’s new, Mum.”  Nobody Owens observed.  He splayed his hand along the side of the black granite, feeling how cool and smooth it felt under his fingers. 

“Aye, it is.  But something’s wrong here.” Mrs. Owens murmured.  She was a plump, animated woman, and held the boy close.  Even if she wasn’t his real mother, she was still quite protective.

“Sherlock Holmes,” her husband, as well as Bod’s father and caretaker, read.  “It’s fresh, of course, but there’s not a spirit attached.  No being has shown his face as yet.  And it has been a week.  Never seen this before in all my days.”

The site was lovely, as gravesites go, situated right under a large oak and backed up near a broken fence covered in ivy which gave it a medieval appearance.  The grounds were extremely well maintained.  The black granite which made up the tombstone was imposing and very expensive.  Several wreaths graced the grave site.  Sherlock Holmes must have been important when he was alive, Bod mused.  Indeed, there had been several visitors since the burial, including a mysterious looking man with an umbrella, who had several men hovering around the cemetery, causing Bod to hide until they left.  Also, another, kinder-looking man, who seemed very sad with deep blue eyes.  He had visited several times already.

Silas watched the Owens’ discussion from his perch on top of the hill, near the obelisk which was dedicated to Josiah Worthington.  Worthington, a local politician, brewer, and baronet, had donated the cemetery and its land almost 300 years ago to the city.  It was a beautiful cemetery: serene, quiet, peaceful, but not really the sort of place you would want to raise a child. Silas may be a vampire, but he had strong values and prided himself on being Bod's watcher.

Since Bod had wandered into the graveyard so many years ago, he had grown into a strong, healthy boy, if a bit quiet.  There were certain gaps in his learning, but Silas endeavored to visit the library as often as possible, bringing new books and information back.  It still wasn’t safe for Bod to leave the cemetery with the man Jack and his minions hanging around.  

Still, it pained Silas that Bod couldn’t receive the social interaction that he needed from other children.  When he did see children they were usually grieving, which are odd circumstances for making friends.  Bod often avoided adults to keep them from asking too many questions.  If the same people saw him more than once, for instance, it would send up red flags.  Questions like ‘Why aren’t you in school?’ and ‘Where is your family?’ were difficult ones for Bod to answer.

Silas sighed and made his way down to the new gravesite.

“What have we found out, then?” Silas said to the group.

“Nothing yet, Silas.” Mr. Owens responded.  “‘Tis very strange.  What do you make of it?”

“Well, if a ghost has a particular purpose, they may briefly visit another family member elsewhere, before returning to their home graveyard, but they are usually only gone a few minutes. Well, you remember…”  Silas trailed off as he gestured with significance to Mr. and Mrs. Owens behind Bod’s head so he wouldn’t see.

“Oh yes, of course,” they both answered in chorus.

Silas was referring to the night Bod’s family was murdered, when Bod’s mother’s ghost had followed Bod to the graveyard where he had fled from Jack, the murderer.  She had pleaded with the  Owens’ to take custody of Bod, then only a toddler, before she faded, returning to her own family’s graveyard.  Soon after, the man Jack had shown up to finish his hit and kill Bod, but Silas had glamoured him into leaving the cemetery and looking elsewhere.

 “What, what is it?”  Bod insisted, his 10-year-old eyes wide.

“Nothing, son,” Mr. Owens said, patting him on the head.  They had recently told Bod about his family.  After all, he was a smart child, very smart.  Smart enough to know children aren’t normally raised in graveyards, and that he _ought_ to have a family somewhere.  A family not made up of ghosts.  So Silas had sat him down and explained about that night, and about the man Jack, and why it was so important for Bod not to leave the graveyard until Jack wasn’t a threat anymore. 

Bod had nodded, taking everything in, his eyes solemn and his countenance serious.

Even though Bod knew about his parents, they tried not to speak about it in front of him.

“Someone’s coming,” Mrs. Owens said.  Even though the ghosts did not have to move, they did so out of respect, moving away from the fresh grave.  A car had pulled into the gravel path nearby and it was likely Mr. Holmes was in for another visitor.

“Bod, go play, okay?” Mr. Owens said.

“Okay Father,” Bod said sweetly, running off quickly before the visitor saw him.


	2. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bod meets John.

The visitor turned out to be the short blonde-haired man with sad blue eyes.  Bod sat at a nearby grave and watched him.  The man sat on a stone bench near the grave and stared.  He sat for a long time, and didn’t say anything.  Bod wondered what it meant that the ghost wasn’t in the grave.  Was that a good or a bad thing?  Did something bad happen to the ghost?  Being a live boy, Bod didn’t know all the ins and outs of being a ghost, but he had picked up quite a lot since growing up in a graveyard.  He knew ghosts couldn’t leave their home graveyards, he knew ghosts didn’t need to eat or drink, and he knew people couldn’t see ghosts. 

Bod was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the blue-eyed man looking at him thoughtfully from his spot on the bench.  As he came out of his daze, he heard the man call to him. Silas had told him to not talk to strangers, so he considered not answering. He also thought about running, but thought that might be childish.  He had read a story recently called Huckleberry Finn, and wanted very much not to be childish.  For some reason, Bod felt like he could trust this man. With these thoughts in mind, he straightened his shoulders and ambled down the gravel path towards the fresh grave.

“Hullo,” Bod said.

“Hi,” the man said.

They had a few moments where they just looked at each other without speaking.  It wasn’t unpleasant, and Bod didn’t feel uneasy like he did around some people.  Up close, the man was tanned and had a kind face.  He was wearing an oatmeal jumper and jeans.  His eyes were indeed very blue.  They looked amused at the moment but Bod could see there was pain and sadness just under the surface. 

“What are you doing in a nasty place like this?” the man said.

“I’m visited my great-aunt,” Bod responded.  It was a white lie he had been taught to say so as not to arouse suspicion.  “She passed away last year.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry to hear that.  Your parents are here, are they?”

“Yes, just over there.”

More silence and quiet contemplation.

“I’m John Watson.”

“I’m Bod.”

“Bod?”

“Yes, as in Nobody.  Nobody Owens.  My Mum said I look like nobody but myself.  It’s how I got my name.  But everyone calls me Bod.”

“I see.  It’s a very nice name.”

“Thank you.  I like the name Sherlock.”

At this John sobered and looked quickly and painfully at the headstone before studying the ground.  “Yes.  He was a friend of mine.  Best friend.”

Bod had seen death, experienced it, felt that if anyone knew death, it was him.  After all, someone whose family is murdered in their house while they are a toddler, someone who grows up in a cemetery, literally seeing death and its effects every day, ought to have an opinion on these things.  So when Bod saw someone in pain, true heartbreaking pain, he knew instantly, even if he was just a boy.

“I’m sorry,” Bod said, and he meant it. 

For some reason, hearing this quiet, heartfelt admission from not only a stranger, but a small boy, was too much for John.  He had put up a brave front, keeping himself (mostly) together in front of Mycroft, Lestrade and the rest of the Met, being strong for Mrs. Hudson, taking the condolence cards, casseroles, and pity looks in stride from friends and coworkers.  But as he searched the boy’s face for a hint of adolescent mocking, for some clue that he was not being genuine, he found none.  When he looked at Bod, he felt like he was looking into the eyes of someone who had been through rather a lot, not into the eyes of a 10-year-old.  Suddenly John felt tears sliding down his face.

Bod reached up reflexively and slipped his hand into John’s.

“Oh, aren’t you a sweet lad,” John said, patting Bod’s hand.  “Thank you.”

John was only slightly embarrassed and didn’t feel like he needed to explain himself.  Bod sat down on the bench beside John.  They sat there for another few minutes in silence.

“Well, Bod, I am going to head home.  Can you find your parents, or do you need help?” John asked, patting him on the shoulder.

“I can find them,” Bod said quickly. 

“It was nice meeting you,” and John got up and headed down the gravel path towards a waiting car.

“You too,” Bod called with a small smile.


	3. Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bod investigates the missing ghost further.

Bod didn’t see John the following day or the next.  There was a visitor, however.  The man in the black car came by again, and even though Bod was well hidden, the man looked over at the place Bod was hidden meaningfully.  More than once.  This man was stiffer and more solemn than John, and even though he was looking towards him, Bod did not want to come out and talk.  Eventually the man left.

Silas and the others in the graveyard still didn’t know what to make of the empty grave, and there had been no sign of the ghost, Sherlock Holmes.

This was intriguing to Bod, and he thought he might try and investigate a bit before John came back.  Even though he was forbidden by Silas to bother people who were grieving, he felt he had comforted John.  And anyway, if Bod thought his best friend was buried somewhere and it turned out he wasn’t, Bod knew he would want someone to tell him.  With this in mind, he went to ask a few ghosts what they thought had happened to Sherlock Holmes.

Bod skirted the outer patches of poison ivy and went to the oldest portion of the graveyard, where he knew some people were buried.  He came upon the grave of Liza Hempstock.  Liza was buried on unconsecrated ground in an area called Potter’s Field.  From talking to the other ghosts, Bod already knew that Liza was a witch who had been burned to death, which was why she was buried on Potter’s Field and not on proper cemetery land.  The ground was swampy and full of holes, and Bod had to be careful where he stepped.

“Well, look who it is, the talk of the cemetery,” came a voice behind Bod.

“Hello, I’m Bod.”

“I know, and I am Liza, as you know.  Bit naughty you coming to this part of the cemetery, but I won’t tell,” Liza winked carefully at Bod, which made him blush.

They talked for a while, getting to know one another.  Liza was aabout 5 years older than Bod (when she died) but seemed to know a lot, no doubt from talking to the other ghosts for a hundred years, and watching humans.  Because of this Bod thought she might be a good ghost to ask.

“Do you have any idea why a grave would be empty of its ghost?  He’s not at another graveyard or visiting dead relatives, it’s been too long,” he added quickly.

Liza considered this.  “I did hear about the empty grave.  All I can think of is, humans are bat crazy aren’t they?  I personally have been watching them for decades and still some of the things they do baffles me,” Liza leaned in conspiratorially. I wouldn’t put it past them that some living relatives or friends may know he’s not in the ground, too.  Maybe even knows where he is!”

This idea made Bod think about the suspicious man in the black car.  It was possible.  But then he thought of John, and knew he wasn’t faking his grief.  He hoped for John he would find out the truth.

“Thank you, Liza, you have been very helpful.” Bod handed her a flower he had been fiddling with.  “Here, for you.”

Liza gave him a blinding smile and a small thank you, watching him walk away.

***************************

From Potter’s Field Bod made his way back to Silas, where he was due for a history lesson. 

At the end of the lesson, Silas asked him what he had been doing the last couple of days, and Bod gave him a sly grin instead of an answer.

“Silas, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes of course.”

“What do you think happened to the man in the empty grave?  I mean, what do you think?”

Silas gave him a long steady look before answering.

“There are dark forces beyond the land of the living, Bod, as well as more benevolent spirits.  Did you know for example, that there are ghouls?  And these ghouls can turn the dead and living alike into ghouls themselves, if given the chance?  And if they don’t turn them into ghouls, sometimes the humans are eaten.”

Bod gave him a horrified look.  “No!  I didn’t know!  What are ghouls?”

Silas answered slowly, careful not to scare Bod. “A ghoul is a creature that eats…humans.  They are not alive.”

Bod looked stricken. “How do people stay safe from ghouls?”

“Well, there are only certain ways the ghouls come into contact with humans.  One such way is in this cemetery, and other ancient burial grounds.  I think you are old enough to know about it, so I will tell you.  It takes a special series of actions to activate a ghoul gate, as they are known, and they prey on sad humans who are already contemplating rash things, like ending their life.”

“But wasn’t the man dead already?” Bod asked.

“Well, that’s my point, Bod, we don’t know.  It is a possibility that since this human ghost is missing, that he may have fallen to the ghouls.”

The child worried at his lip and finally asked, “Where is the gate?”

“I’ll show you.”

Silas got up and led Bod to a large, scary looking stone near the center of the graveyard.  It was very old. The marker had pentagrams, devils, and other terrible looking markings etched all over it.  Bod shivered and promised not to come near it again.


	4. Questions

Bod ruminated on all that he had learned from his friends.  Was the man alive?  Had he gotten in trouble with the ghouls?  Part of the reason Bod was so interested was that this was a mystery happening right under his nose, and he was excited.  But another part felt a kind of duty towards the man’s mourners, particularly John.  Since he had resources at hand he would continue asking questions.

John came by later that week.  When Bod talked to him he still seemed stricken.  This time they talked about nothing at all, only ordinary things, like the weather and where the poison ivy was in the graveyard.  Bod considered asking him if he believed in ghouls, but he didn’t want to upset the man; besides he knew the real answer to that question already.

One night while John was having a vocabulary lesson with Silas, he stilled.

“What is it?”  Bod whispered.

“Someone is here.  Shhh,” Silas put his finger to his lips to indicate silence.

They sat in the dark quiet until eventually Bod heard the soft clomp-clomp-clomp of footfalls.  They wove a path towards them and eventually stopped just outside the crypt.

Silas sighed as if he was more annoyed than anything.  “Bod, stay here, and don’t say anything.”

As soon as Silas left, Bod pressed his ear to the door and looked out of the crack in the door.

It was the solemn man from the graveyard!  The one Bod had seen hanging around the empty grave when John wasn’t around.  He listened carefully.

“Hullo.  May I help you sir?”  Silas’ words were said gingerly but with quiet anger.  He did not appreciate anyway breaking into his graveyard and approaching at night, especially with the boy nearby.  He had thought it was the man Jack at first, come to finish what he started.

The man regarded him for a moment before saying, “I believe you can.  I am the brother of a man who was entered into this graveyard recently.  I have questions, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Depends on the question.”

The man laughed but it didn’t sound happy, Bod thought.

“You have a little boy living here, do you not?”

Silas all but growled, and the man lifted placating hands.

“What’s it to you?” Silas spat out.

“I am merely concerned for the boy’s well-being,” the man simpered.  “A graveyard does not seem an ideal place to raise a boy.  Perhaps it can be overlooked, however, if we work together.  Now what do you think of that, hmmm?”

Silas seemed to consider this as he glared at the man.  “What do you want?”

“Three questions, my dear man.  That is all.  First, I believe you can tell me if the grave marked Sherlock Holmes is indeed occupied or not.”

Silas looked up in surprise.  “Now, why would I know anything about that?”

The man sighed.  “Let’s skip the games, shall we?  We both know you’re a ‘man of the night,’ that you protect this graveyard, and thus know the…occupants.”

“Is that so?” Silas sounded amused now, and Bod turned to get a look at his features.  Guarded, wary, but not scared.

“Quite.  Vampire, if you wish to use the colloquial term.”

At this Bod’s eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t help but gasp.  He knew Silas was odd, seemed to know everything, and was always up at night.  But a vampire!

Both Silas and the solemn man turned to look at his hiding place, and he blushed even though they couldn’t see it.  Silas’ eyes glinted in the moonlight, his wish as plain as if it was spoken, ‘Be quiet.’  The man just smirked and tapped his brolly.

Turning back, Silas ground out an “I see,” between clenched teeth.  He seemed to decide something, and then continued.  “No, there is not a man in that grave.”

The man nodded thoughtfully as if he had guessed the answer already.

“Also, I need to know whether you have seen a tall man, angular features, dark curly hair, or some variation thereof.  He may be using the name Sigurdsson.”

“No, I haven’t.  There have been the usual visitors, but no one to matches that description.  A blonde man sits at that grave quite a bit, though.”

“Yes, I know,” the man muttered quietly.

“And your last question?” Silas prompted.  He wanted to be rid of this man who was invading his turf, so to speak.

“Yes,” the solemn man steeled himself.  “Do you know a ghoul by the name of Moriarty?”

 


	5. Visitors

After the man with the umbrella left, Silas came back in and Bod finished his lesson. Bod tried to ask questions about what he and the man were talking about, but Silas wouldn’t tell him anything. 

Bod passed the day going over his math lessons and taking a spelling quiz. It was fall, and leaves rained down on the graveyard as they fell from the trees. When Bod thought about it, he realized he hadn’t seen the groundskeeper in a few days. The grass was getting a little too long, and someone needed to rake the leaves. 

The various containers of flowers were generally taken care of by the individual mourners, but sometimes Bod saw good Samaritans righting fallen tokens or watering flowers that weren’t theirs. This made Bod happy, the fact that people continued to take care of each other even after they had died. Bod thought about all this as he chewed a sandwich and watched a couple of squirrels playing amongst the headstones.

He felt rather than heard someone sit next to him, and turned to see John. It looked like he had just come from work; he still had his name tag on that said Doctor John Watson, MD. Bod smiled and greeted his friend. 

John smiled and nodded. “How are you today John?” Bod asked, although something told him he wouldn’t get the real answer. And even if he did, he wouldn’t like it. He could feel the despair coming off John in waves.

“Oh, about the same,” John replied without looking at him. 

Bod finished his sandwich and being wise beyond his years decided John might want to be alone. He left with a wave and a backwards glance at his friend, who was already crying.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night Bod couldn’t sleep. There was too much going on inside his head. He decided to go for a walk and hopefully get sleepy in the process.

He had a route; it took him past the older section of the graveyard (but not onto the unconsecrated land and Liza Hempstock’s plot), curved around a stand of ancient oaks just in front of the hill and past the groundskeeper shack. From here he walked carefully past the Ghoul Gate- after all he still didn’t know how to open or close it, and on towards Sherlock Holmes’ grave. 

Bod had been studying the ground and so let out a little gasp when he nearly walked into someone sitting on the bench he usually shared with John. He had a dark suit on, a white shirt, and a long, dark coat on over it. His eyes cut through Bod in an instant, seemingly taking everything at once. Bod noticed that he had sharp features, and wondered if they would be called angular, but he wasn’t sure. One thing was for sure: this man did not have curly black hair. It was shortish and blonde. 

Bod had recently been reading lots of stories, mostly involving good guys and bad guys. The bad ones wore black while the good ones wore white. This man confused him though. Was he good or bad?

“Neither,” the man said, looking directly at Bod.   
Bod smiled despite his apprehension.

“I am a friend of John’s,” the man said, standing up and pacing. “Have you seen him here?”

Bod thought hard. What does this man want with John? John was very nice and Bod didn’t want to get him in trouble.

“I don’t want to hurt him. Just…how is he?” the man said, sensing the hesitation from Bod.

“John was here today. He doesn’t wear black,” Bod blurted out.

The man smiled, and this made Bod a bit more comfortable.

“Ah yes, good guys don’t wear black, is that right?”

“Well…” now that the man had said it out loud it sounded silly.

He gave the small man a smile, then walked over and sat beside him. 

“You live here,” the man stated. This made Bod feel scared. No one was supposed to know that. He didn’t want anyone to take him from the graveyard. Out there was the man Jack. 

“No, don’t be frightened. It’s clear from your clothing, a few days since they were washed. Your clothes and haircut are not following current trends like the other little boys in this town. However, you are being cared for…interesting. And you seem quite bright, so someone must be giving you lessons.”

Bod’s face lit up with a smile. He didn’t think this man could be Jack…because Jack would already know all those things. Plus, he would have already killed him.

“But why would you live here? What happened in your early childhood to make this a refuge?” his eyes blazed as he took in Bod’s form and their surroundings again. 

If this was a friend of John’s, Bod decided it wouldn’t hurt to talk about his ordeal a little bit. The man had already guessed a lot of his story.

“My parents were murdered when I was a baby. The man Jack was supposed to kill me too, but I crawled out of the crib and came to this graveyard…and I was protected. Jack is still looking for me. It’s not safe for me to leave here. He wants to finish his business. No one was ever charged for my parent’s murder.”

“Perhaps…perhaps I can look into that for you. But right now, is there anything else you can tell me about John?”

“John comes here lots of days. We talk sometimes. Sometimes we don’t,” Bod offered.

The man seemed to process this a moment. “Is he…happy?”

Bod turned so he could see the man’s face better. The moonshine highlighted a thin face, with dark spots beneath his eyes. And his eyes! They were grey, but almost a kaleidoscope of different shades of grey and black. They seemed to sear in their intensity, and Bod had to look away.

“No. He is not happy. In fact, he was very upset today. He was crying more than usual.”

“More than usual?” the man enunciated carefully. He sighed and stood up. “I see,” looking back he said, “Sometimes people are good and bad at the same time, like me. But John is a truly good.”

Bod nodded solemnly. Yes, what he said made sense.

“Do you want me to tell him something?” Bod asked quietly.

“No, just. Don’t tell him I was here.” He carefully unwound and lifted a blue scarf from his neck. He seemed to consider something before wrapping it around Bod’s neck instead. “Keep that for me, please?”

Bod nodded. The man turned to walk away. They both jumped slightly as Silas came from around Sherlock's headstone.

“Sherlock Holmes? We need to chat.”


End file.
